I’m here to help. Being an expert on
golf matters as you and I fancy ourselves to be, it’s often hard to be silent
when you overhear someone discussing a golf topic without the proper context. A
sentence that a friend or acquaintance says catches your ear, or you’re minding
your own business eavesdropping at a department store, and your ears perk up.
Even at the virtual water cooler of the Internet, or by an actual water cooler
at work, you cringe at first. But then you feel obligated—nay,
compelled—to try to enlighten the unenlightened.

You usually leave the experience
feeling like you’ve helped—but have you really? You’re most likely
wasting your time.

I was similarly enticed to action last
Friday night when, half paying attention to the Nightly News, Brian Williams
did a short segment on Rory McIlroy withdrawing from the Honda Classic. I was
shocked, or amazed, that the managing editor at NBC News would think many
citizens would care. Then I thought: "Well, it is Friday night, and they’re not
above showing YouTube cat videos on a Wednesday, after all, so..."

Brian Williams alerting me to this
Earth-shaking development was the first I’d heard of it, so I went online to
check if there really was a "controversy." I was surprised, and amazed, to say
the least. IMHO, there are a lot of important things in this world, but this
was not one of them. Pro golfers WD quite frequently, truth be told. Okay, Rory
could have explained himself better to his fellow competitors, but that’s about
all I’ll concede.

On the interwebs, it seemed that there
was a majority of golf experts and part-time dentists whose response to Rory’s
toothache echoed the 1970s Cheech and Chong comedy bit: "Earache, My Eye!" On
top of that, you know, Rory sold his soul to the devil—er, Nike.

Instead of getting into a discussion of
character and a silly comparison to things Tiger has done (he’s done worse.),
just say: "Meh, he’s young."

So, here are my timesaving tips for
addressing golf topics that you might overhear in the coming weeks.

The enticement: That "Bear Trap" at the Honda Classic is
like Nicklaus’ version of Amen Corner.

The response you feel compelled to
make: That’s an interesting observation. To me, it seems a bit too contrived to
mimic Augusta National’s Amen Corner, where dramatic turns of events happen all
Sunday long at The Masters. At the Bear Trap (holes 15, 16, and 17), there are
mostly bogeys on Sundays. And since this tournament moved to PGA National in
2007, the Bear Trap stretch hasn’t affected the outcome in any significant way
on Sunday afternoon, even though the plaque (see picture) quotes Jack as
saying: "It should be won or lost right here." And, furthermore, a moniker like
that is one that others bestow on you, not one you tout yourself with a plaque (see
picture) and an eight-foot-high statue.

The timesaving response #1: If there
were actual bears—or alligators—guarding the greens, that might be
dramatic.

The timesaving response #2: If it’s not in Wikipedia, it’s not a real
thing—or dramatic.

The enticement: Donald Trump is going to blow up Doral.

The response you feel compelled to make:
Well, not really. He says there are significant changes afoot, and that’s his prerogative.
But it’s a shame that the PGA Tour’s idea of drama is to make most tour stops
have water guarding the fairways and greens on the last four or five finishing
holes. This may create drama for the casual TV viewer, whom the Tour wants to
draw in, but not for true golf enthusiasts, who are somewhat put off by this
trend. Some of the greatest golf courses in the world have no water hazards at
all, like Oakmont and Winged Foot West. In the end, this is all you really need
to know: Trump wants to turn the par-three 15th hole at Doral into an island
green. I’m not completely sure he respects the traditions of the game.

The timesaving response: Trump’s a
jerk.

The Enticement: Do you think the Tiger/Phil rivalry will be
reignited at this year’s Masters?

The response you feel compelled to make:
Well, you know, Tiger and Phil actually haven’t gone head-to-head very
frequently. I doubt that either of them would characterize their relationship
as a rivalry. The one time they did "rival," so to speak, was at Doral in 2005,
and it produced some high drama. On Sunday, Phil would make a move with a
birdie and Tiger, playing in the group behind him, would answer in turn. Tiger
won that bout in four rounds.

The timesaving response: Trust me on
this. Tiger does not waste any mental energy thinking about Phil.

The enticement: Chis Berman is always fun, even when he does
golf.

The response you feel compelled to make:
It seems that with the connections and seniority he has, Berman will be around
for a long time. He’s a fan favorite for the enthusiasm he brings to his love
of sports, and it’s infectious when he’s talking about football or baseball.
Golf, however, requires a more measured enthusiasm to convey the subtleties of
the game and the nuanced challenges that a professional golfer faces under
tournament pressure. But, just like the Pope, apparently Berman can’t be forced
to retire from golf announcing.

The timesaving response: Chris Berman
is clever; but you are less so.

The enticement: Did you hear the TSA is going to allow
golfers to carry two clubs onto planes? Which would you carry?

The response you want to make: Well,
you know, many pros keep their favorite putter so close at hand that they are
not above buying an extra plane ticket so the club has a seat of its own. It’s
not so much which two clubs would be the best to play a round if you had to
play with only two clubs. That’s a scenario that almost never happens. It’s more
about which two clubs would be the most un-replaceable should they get damaged
down below in cargo. The most likely response to the two-club question would be
the putter and driver. For me: driver and ball retriever.

The timesaving response: Kim Kardashian
really looks good pregnant.

The enticement: That picture of Hogan’s follow-through on
the one-iron swing to win the 1950 U.S. Open at Merion on a bum leg is epic,
isn’t it?

The response you feel compelled to
make: That wasn’t... it didn’t... the year was... he had to play... the bus accident
was... he didn’t make birdie... he didn’t have to... he was healed, but in pain...
there was a three-way playoff... he had to wrap his legs... it might have actually
been a 2-iron... you can see the golf ball... he hit a perfect fade to a back right
pin...

The timesaving response: Yes, it is.

I must admit, a guilty pleasure of mine
is reading the Comments sections below online news or feature articles. I’m
amazed at how passionately people feel about the most unimportant things. But I
guess the commenters are engaged in a sport of sorts, and a form of playground one-upmanship,
though no one is keeping score, and no one ever wins.

Oh, and if
someone still wants to press you on Rory’s withdrawal, ask them how they can
estimate how much pain he was in and, for the record, how many times they
themselves have cut a round of golf short prematurely.

You would
probably fall over if that person said: "No Comment."

Ron Romanik is principal of the brand,
packaging, and PR consultancy Romanik Communications (www.romanik.com), located in Elverson, PA.
Ron’s bio is here.

In the blog, Carney admits that some
attempts at humor are not for everyone, and that those who just don’t "get it"
should choose to refrain from reading future columns. The column has a head
shot picture but no byline, suggesting a bit of anonymity for the eponymous
caddie. Carney notes, though, that Staff Writer Max Adler is "responsible" for
the column each month, indicating more than a modicum of editorial oversight.

There are two reasons for bringing up
the Hungover Caddie on this blog. First, the column is an ambitious attempt at
mixing commentary and fiction, etiquette advice and humor, honesty and attitude
that often leaves one pondering a formerly taken-for-granted belief or attitude.
It is unapologetically frank, edgy, and funny.

Secondly, one recent column illustrates
all the above points and makes a strong argument for a pretty radical policy
change in USGA rules. In the January 2013 column, Hungover Caddie recounts the
fictional story of two golfers trying to qualify for the U.S. Mid-Am. The story
examines the fate of longtime amateur Dr. Scratchet, whom we are introduced to
as he tries to drown his sorrow after just missing qualifying by choking on a
two-footer to remain in the playoff for the last spot open for the Mid-Am. His nemesis,
one Vinny Whacker, is a reinstated pro.

You can probably see where this is
going. The Hungover Caddie states it plainly: "To give a pro his amateur status
back is to throw a lion among the lambs." To the magazine’s credit, the
Hungover Caddie takes time and column inches to air arguments on both sides of
the debate.

But the point of the entire story hits
home when the Hungover Caddie slaps you with a reality check: "In 2013, half
the field at the U.S. Mid-Am will be guys who once played to cash checks."
After conceding that it’s a complicated issue, he concludes by suggesting the
USGA create a separate tournament, only for reinstated amateurs, called the US Shamateur.

As I’ve mentioned in previous columns,
one-sided blog rants are not my style, so I think there’s valid arguments on
both sides here. Finding a compromise would certainly be a challenge.

One thing I can add is my own personal
experience about a decade ago, when I was a semi-competitive amateur. A few
times, standing around the leaderboard, I’d ask about the about-to-be-crowned
winner: "Where did he come from?" When I got the "He’s a former pro" answer,
the conversation would end there, somewhat abruptly. It was as if: "’Nuff
said." Though I never witnessed any overt resentment to former pros, and my own
feelings were mixed and not particularly strong, I’d imagine many fellow
competitors had some unspoken reservations about a less-than-pure amateur
taking the spotlight away from a 100% amateur. Of course, I suspect that I
might have different feelings if, like the fictional Dr. Scratchet, I’d been
edged out of some glory by a not-so-amateur player. I’ll let you know when that
happens.

For whatever reason, only a few
Hungover Caddie columns are available online, even for logged-in Golf Digest
subscribers. Here are a few you might want to sample, however:

Well, maybe there’s never been a safer bet than
Alabama in the 2013 NCAA Football Championship Game. But this one comes close.

It’s the type of idle 19th Hole conversation
that can turn ugly if someone doesn’t rein in their testosterone and realize
their own physical limitations. A boast, then a challenge, then a bet ensues
before calmer heads prevail. Don’t get caught on the wrong end of this one,
though.

Every golfer has had this feeling. Frustrated
on the tee of a 120-yard par-three, you drop a few extra balls and after five pitching
wedge swings, you still can’t find the dance floor. You think: "I would do
better just throwing the ball around the golf course." That may be true if your
handicap could be confused with an IQ score, but stop yourself from the next
thought progression: "I would certainly be straighter, and could reach a
120-yard par-three with one throw."

Ahem. No, you can’t. Probably not even close.
If you hear someone claim this at the 19th Hole, chime in with the dollar
amount you believe you can extract from that person.

This bet has a few other variations, such as:
"I bet I could break 90 by just throwing and rolling the ball around the
course." If the course is over 6, 400 yards and the fairways are not rock hard,
you should jump at the other end of that bet, as well.

If you’re a nice guy, however, you might want
to make sure that the fellow you’re betting has good health insurance, because
his shoulder might never be the same after that round. It’s safer to throw a
football as hard as you can, because at least the football has some mass to
slow down the arm release.

One of my dear memories from playing golf in my
youth was during a high school match at the Berkshire Country Club in Reading,
PA. I was, most likely, losing my game as I trudged off the 18th tee and down
the fairway in the fading light of a late autumn dusk. My spirits were
brightened when a good friend on the opposing team, whose game had been
completed, joined my on my trudge carrying a ball and a wedge.

His name was Rich Delucia,
and he was a very talented athlete. As I recall, he was throwing one- and two-hitters
left and right for Wyomissing High School as an underclassman, and he had a
seemingly effortless ease with a number of other sports, golf included.

Rich always gave me a chuckle. He was
soft-spoken and polite on the surface, but underneath simmered a mischievous, insubordinate streak. He knew he had talent,
but he rarely drew attention to himself for its own sake.

The 18th at the Berkshire is a short,
narrow, straightaway par-four. I was likely left with a 100-yard shot after a
three-wood tee ball. As we passed the 150-yard plate in the fairway, Rich
tapped the plate with the iron end of his club, tossed the ball lightly in his
right hand, and said: "I bet you I can throw it on the green from here." I
blurted out: "No way!!"

Having tried to throw a golf ball
myself on a golf course once or twice before, I knew there were limitations. I
don’t believe I ever made it to 100 yards. However, I also knew Rich had a
golden arm. And I knew he probably wouldn’t have made the claim if he didn’t
have a reasonable chance of backing it up. I think we settled on five bucks for
the wager.

Now, you can’t see the surface of the
18th green from the fairway, but if you clear the shallow front bunker, you’re
on. If it was 150 to the center, then it was probably 140 to clear the bunker.

By the time he started getting his
step-and-a-half windup going, I figured I was probably going to be out five
smackers, but I thought with a little hope: "When a professional MLB pitcher
tries to throw his heater at his best 95 mph speed, sometimes it only pops at
90."

He glanced around to see that he didn’t
have an audience. What was more astonishing than him winning the bet was the
way his throw took off—and rose into the air—like an eight-iron.
How the heck did he get that much spin on that little ball? The next thought I
had was: "If his dad saw him do that, he’d probably wring his neck."

I secretly hoped Rich didn’t jeopardize
his major league baseball career with stunts like that, but it was a fun trick
nonetheless. And he didn’t after all. Rich pitched nine seasons in "The Bigs," going 12-13 in his first season as a starter before
later transitioning into a middle reliever.

It’s truly humbling when you see real,
raw talent like that up close.

And yes, some pro golfers are athletes.
Paul Casey, tossed
a ball on the green of a 132-yared par-three during the 2011 Telus Skins Game
in Alberta, Canada. A Brit, Casey grew up playing cricket, so he know his
capabilities. The real power in the throw—just like a golf swing—seems
to come from the timing of the weight transfer to the left side.

Ron Romanik is
principal of the brand and PR consultancy Romanik
Communications (www.romanik.com), located
in Elverson, PA. Ron’s bio is here.

This has been a pretty good
year for the ladies on the LPGA Tour. In 2012, the lady golfers have gotten to
see a wide swath of the world (maybe even more than they might have wanted),
they’ve expanded their sponsorships and tour stops and they’ve seen an
enthusiastic rotation of players on hot streaks.

American Stacy Lewis, a spry
lass of 27, just nailed down her fourth win of the year, and is now the No.2 player
in the world. Unlike the other multiple winners this year, Lewis spread her wins
across eight months. After the dominant Yani Tseng
cooled off in late spring, the wealth has been spread around more equitably.

But this post is not about
handicapping the top young U.S.A. talent, bemoaning the
still-late-arriving-but-still-on-its-way-mega-greatness of Michelle Wie, analyzing skirt length trends or the sad state of LPGA
Tour popularity. That’s because, for one, the Tour is not in so sad of a state.
The LPGA is experiencing a resurgence in sponsorships and ratings (according to some sources). And a recent interview with tour Commissioner Mike Whan hinted at
further expansion and new marketing initiatives for 2013.

The LPGA Tour expanded by
five tournaments in 2012, to 29 events worldwide. Granted, 14 of those events
are outside the mainland continental U.S. (Hawaii-1, South America-1, Mexico-1,
France-1, UK-1, Austrailia-1, Canada-2, Asia-6). But Commissioner Whan has embraced the global character of the ladies game,
boasting that other professional sports might be jealous of its international
reach. Feel free to take that for what it’s worth.

But the real impetus of this
post is that I feel it’s a shame that more male amateur golfers don't watch the
LPGA Tour more frequently. Not just for the pretty faces that now grace the Tour,
nor for Paula Creamer’s awesome pink wardrobe, but for the Tour’s instructional
aspect.

This feeling came to me
while I was glued to the epic playoff at the Kingsmill
Championship (in Williamsburg, VA) between Paula and Jiyai
Shin. Maybe it was the couch I was glued to for lack of motivation to clean the
gutters, but I was glad to catch it anyway. Watching the ladies there (and at
other tournaments this year) made me think about my own game and how I often
play too aggressively, with poor risk/reward ratios.

The top tier of the LPGA Tour
play at quite a consistently high level, especially tee to green. What struck
me most then, and at other times I’ve watched the ladies this year, was how few
mistakes the leaders make in managing themselves and the course. Creamer and
Shin matched pars for the eight straight times they played the
18th hole in the playoff.

There they were, time after
time, in the center of the fairway and the center of the green, time after
time. (Paula did make one sand save that I saw.) The pin was tucked back left,
behind a bunker and on a downslope. An aggressive line brought more danger than
benefit, so it was dutifully avoided.

In addition, the ladies
manage themselves well in a number of ways. When they get into trouble, they
make sure to get out first and foremost. They do not take unnecessary risks and
they never over-swing.

The men on the PGA Tour, on
the other hand, must go for birdies pretty much all the time to keep up with
the hot players of the week. Several factors contribute to this, including hole
length, equipment advances and course setup. For example, the green complexes
are often tiered, effectively creating four or five mini-greens that beg
aggressive play and punish conservative play.

But the LPGA game more
resembles the game you and I play, and our scores might see a few notches of
improvement if we managed our games the way the ladies do regularly. Sure, Michelle
Wie might be aggressive on par fives, but most LPGA players
know that playing safe just in front of a par-five green, for instance, will
pay long-term dividends on the scorecard. Greenside bunkers and long, tangled
rough just off the green make for frequent bogeys. And if you’re in the center
of most greens, two-putts are a cinch.

Ron Romanik is principal of
the brand and PR consultancy Romanik Communications (www.romanik.com), located in Elverson, PA. Ron’s bio is here.

It’s one of the indelible images of golf: Jack
Nicklaus picking up Tony Jacklin’s ball marker on the
18th green at Royal Birkdale Golf Club at the end of
the 1969 Ryder Cup. Like many avid golf fans, I had seen the key clips from
that Ryder Cup more than a few times and recognized "The Concession" as one of
the greatest, if not the greatest,
show of sportsmanship in the history of sport—at least since the lions
gave Daniel a pass inside their own den. Well, maybe that wasn’t sport per se.

The barest of facts of the matter make "The
Concession" a grand gesture. The U.S. held the Cup that year, so the U.S. only
needed a tie to retain it. The match was completely tied with Jack and Tony’s
singles match the only one left to be decided. Their match was tied going into
the final hole. After three shots each, Jack had a four-and-a-half foot par
putt and Tony had a two-foot part putt left. Jack made his putt and conceded
Tony’s putt, thereby concluding the Cup in a tie, acknowledging that the U.S.
had retained the Cup and sparing Tony any embarrassment if he missed the putt,
thereby losing both the individual match and the team match. Nice guy, nice
timing.

But as one digs deeper into the story, one
uncovers subplots that have not always been covered in depth. There were many
compounding circumstances that compelled Jack to make the gracious gesture, to
make it decisively and to leverage his role as statesman of the game itself.

One circumstance, the mere facts of the matter,
I’ve just covered. But just to reiterate: It wasn’t important

won
the Tony/Jack match, it was important who owned the Cup. That had already been
decided when Jack made his putt. In that regard, Tony’s putt was meaningless.
And in more practical terms, Tony’s ability to make the putt would not make him
a hero, but missing it would have made him a fall guy, the one to blame for the
loss.

I always thought one of the most amazing part
of the concession was how Jack so quickly picked up the coin after he holed out
his four-and-a-half footer. It was as if Jack was prepared for the moment well
ahead (maybe even holes ahead), and that he didn't hesitate, which might have
made the moment awkward or called extra attention to the gesture. He just
executed the moment.

I discovered that this was not an accurate assumption
on my part. In a recent history of the Ryder Cup, Jack admitted that it was a more spontaneous act. That doesn’t
diminish Jack’s ability to be completely aware of what was going on around him
and the import of his actions. He knew the exact score, the exact situation,
the gravity of the moment. He was completely prepared to do what he did, and
did it with a smile and quick handshake. We would all be better human beings if
we were as prepared for moments in life with the singularity and thoroughness
that Jack brought to the green that day.

Jack was always incredibly aware of everything
going on around him. He probably even knew that it might not be popular with
his teammates—but he didn’t care. At the time, though, Jack was as close
as anyone could become to being the embodiment of the game of golf itself. The
principles he had, one might say, where the principles of the game itself by
default. He was, at the time, the moral and ethical personification of the
game, and knew what was good for the game. If he did it, it was therefore the
right thing to do, ipso facto.

In fact, the concession was not popular among
all the other members of the U.S. team, nor its captain, Sam Snead. An outright
win meant a great deal to these players. And there were legitimate reasons for
the tension between the two teams that year—several loose-lipped comments
on both sides had ruffled feathers on opposing teams.

This was Jack’s first Ryder Cup, due to a PGA
eligibility rule that prevented him from participating earlier in the 1960s.
Jack was 29 and Tony, 25. Tony Jacklin was at the
height of his career, having won the Open Championship earlier that year, and
before the rollercoaster emotional decade that followed.

But the acrimony between the teams makes the
concession even more of an honorable gesture. It is just a game, after all, and
Samuel Ryder founded the Cup matches with the express purpose of promoting good
will between the U.S. and Great Britain, with no cash purse involved.

Another reason that the gesture was so grand
was that Jack’s personal feelings might have gotten in the way. Tony was
dominating golf that year, while Jack’s fortunes had temporarily faded. Tony
had drubbed Jack in the morning singles match 4&3, and in a four-ball match
the day before. So it would have been understandable if Jack had been out for
satisfaction, if not revenge, to show he could beat the current hottest player
fair and square. But Jack felt the moment was bigger than that.

Another point that may be up for debate is the
feeling that if you didn’t win convincingly, you didn't really win. Maybe Jack
felt that a half-point win was the same as a tie anyway, so what could be the
big deal. And how would making Tony putt that two-footer promote "good will"
anyway?

Tony was gracious to a fault, both at that
moment and ever since. He never complained about being deprived of his
opportunity to make that putt, because he appreciated the gesture for the
simple goal it meant to achieve: promote good will.

What many golfers who are not familiar with the
rules of match play forget is that each player, or team, "controls" his opponent’s
ball, or balls (in four-ball). The Seve
Ballesteros/Tom Lehman episode on the 12th hole of the final day Ryder Cup
singles match in 1995 at Oak Hill gives a good illustration of what can happen
when players forget this fact.

Tom Lehman hit a putt to about two inches from
the cup. Seve still had a lengthy putt to negotiate, and
did not concede the two-inch putt of Lehman’s. Lehman looked at Seve for the concession several times, but getting no
affirmation, proceeded to putt out. In essence, though, Lehman played out of
turn.

Seve’s intention was misunderstood at that moment, both by Tom and the
gallery. It turned out he only wanted to use Tom’s ball mark as a aiming point
for his putt. He intended to concede Lehman’s putt after he putted out, but the
situation was a bit unfortunate. Seve didn’t think
anything of it while it was happening, because it was second nature that he had
"control" of Tom’s ball in match play.

Ron Romanik is
principal of the brand and PR consultancy Romanik
Communications (www.romanik.com),
located in Elverson, PA. His full bio is here.

The final day of the U.S.
Amateur was an exciting tooth-and-nail battle that ended on the first extra (37th)
hole. I couldn’t get how the match ended out of my mind, so I decided to
revisit the ending to make a few points about this fickle game we love (and
hate).

Visibly shocked and
disappointed, Weaver could not compose himself on the first extra hole, which
was the 18th again, and lost with a bogey in 37 holes. (He bogeyed
it three times that day.) After shaking hands all around, Weaver walked off the
green and proceeded to abuse his golf bag with his putter. How you feel about
that display of emotion is a topic for another time.

Weaver was not immune to the
pressure of the moment. He actually did to his opponent in the Round of 16 what
Fox did to him—come back from 2 & 2 to win. He parred
18 that day to force extra holes, and won on the first extra hole (the 1st
hole). On the flip side of that, Weaver won his round of 32 match with a bogey on 18.

But back to the putt that
Weaver missed. It appeared that Weaver hit it exactly as he wanted, which was
very firm, to take the break out of the putt and hammer it home for the win. The
announcers, including Gary Koch, made a big deal that a little bump in the putt
caused the putt to go a touch off line. While that’s true to a degree, any irregularity
on the green in the line of the putt would have caused it to break left,
because that was the direction of the break. If it had actually been a straight
putt, the bump might not have had the dramatic, and unfortunate result.

The point here is that, to
this viewer, the match was lost because of Weaver’s decision to hit it firm and try to eliminate the break. The
decisions you make on a golf course are almost as important as the execution of
the shot. Every choice of club and type of shot is a calculated risk/reward
situation as to the likelihood that the shot will come off as intended.

The strategic aspect of golf
extends onto the green, as illustrated here, and the heat of battle can cause
poor decisions. Just because the risk of a three-putt is immaterial in this
match play situation doesn’t mean that you have to take advantage of that fact.

Rarely, if ever, do you see
tour pro hit a five-footer as hard as Weaver hit his, even in match play. They
don't change their game in different situations. If they do, it's almost
imperceptible, especially on the green. Of course, uphill putts are hit firmer
than downhill putts for obvious reasons. But they will hit the same putt
whether its for a double bogey on the 1st hole or for a birdie or
par on the last to win a title.

The final point is
simple—composure. Weaver let his mind drift to holding the winner’s
trophy and felt the loss immediately after the lipped out five-footer. Viewers
could sense that the match was over even before they teed off on the 37th
hole.

I am certainly not casting
aspersions here, as I cannot imagine the intense pressure and anticipation of
the moment Weaver faced. All I’m suggesting is that there are a few things all
players can learn here—maybe more accessible from the humanness of young
amateurs than from the automatons of the PGA tour.

Ron Romanik is principal of
the brand and PR consultancy Romanik Communications (www.romanik.com), located in Elverson, PA. His
full bio is here.

Somebody’s got to do it. Not that Steve needs
my help; he’s doing all right by himself.

It’s been a full year since Steve helped Adam
Scott win at Firestone CC in the 2011 WGC event there. Okay, so Steve
overstepped his bounds there, and once or twice elsewhere, when his mouth got
ahead of his brain. But he had a legitimate reason to be angry (more on that
later).

I just find it funny that so many of the same
people that admire the strong drive of competitors who reach the pinnacle of
their profession turn so quickly on those same competitors when they reveal how
truly competitive they are.

There are very few competitors that achieve
dominance of a sport without a little arrogance. Even Jack Nicklaus was
presumptuous enough to speak as the second-highest authority on golf (next to
God or Bobby Jones, depending on your religious beliefs). And I couldn’t fault
him for that.

The point is that you have to accept the bad
with the good. Taking it further, one could argue that many competitors would
not achieve as highly as they have without the belief that they’re better than
everyone else. Especially in golf, where you have to believe you can pull off a
shot before you can actually perform it. Sometimes, confidence is everything.

And stop yourself if you’re inclined to say,
"Steve Williams is just a caddie." Some caddies on tour are just caddies, but
Steve is about as highly involved in the decisions made with the pro he’s
caddying for as any other caddie out there. And, at the PGA Tour level of
competition, there’s such a fine line between a great shot and disaster that
club selection and course management are critical. And finally, the caddie’s
most important job may be making his pro stay focused and feel confident in the
club and shot selection that has been decided on.

So, Steve Williams is the ideal caddie and as
competitive as they come. He chose his profession at a young age (13-years-old)
and never looked back. He’s also an accomplished racecar driver, a Member of the
New Zealand Order of Merit and a charitable man to boot $1 million New
Zealand dollars, or about$807,000
U.S., to a youth golf program.).

When he says "I’m a good frontrunner," as he did
after celebrating Adam Scott’s win in the WGC Bridgestone last year, he was
merely expressing his competitiveness, as if he has part ownership of his pros’
wins and losses. I would think that would be a valuable trait.

How much did he contribute to Tiger’s wins in
his prime? That’s immeasurable, as in not measurable. Just remember that Steve
has had more wins without Tiger than with Tiger. There’s no way to know how
many majors Tiger would have won without Steve. I surmise that, in my mind,
this much is indisputable: fewer.

In defense of Steve being angry at Tiger after
being "let go," a review
of the tape might make you rethink your knee-jerk reaction to what was
reported. If you follow Steve’s argument, he waited patiently after the Tiger
scandal passed over and after recoveries from injuries. He was loyal. That
loyalty was not returned. Not because he was sacked at all, but because of the
timing. If Tiger had any inkling that he might let Steve go anywhere in that
18-month period, he suggests, he should have been courteous to Steve to let him
go earlier so he could get on with his own life. A valid point, I grant.

Steve could be the best caddie ever, and he
goes above and beyond the call of duty. He famously protects his players and
fends off distractions, once grabbing a $7,000 camera and tossing it into a
lake. I don’t know which would be harder, defending Tiger from dangerous,
trigger-happy photographers or defending Adam from the dangerous,
skirt-flirting gold-diggers that Adam seem to attract like vultures to road
kill.

So, I don’t blame Steve Williams either for
fleeing right after the 2012 British Open concluded, after Adam Scott’s epic
collapse. Being a true competitor, he felt partly responsible for the
loss—maybe even wholly responsible. Right or wrong, that’s how
hyper-competitive individuals feel. The worst "decision" he was a part of was
the club selection at 18, where Adam hit a 3-wood into a fairway bunker. But he
probably felt more responsible for not getting Adam’s head in the right place
for his approaches to 15, 16 and 17, which appeared hurried to many observers.

Talking to the media after that collapse would
be a no-win situation. Well, pretty much any more contact between Steve and the
media is a no-win situation. He’s damned if he takes any credit, and damned if
he doesn’t.

Ron Romanik is principal of the brand
and PR consultancy Romanik Communications (www.romanik.com),
located in Elverson, PA. His full bio is here.